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The Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund…
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The Interpretation of Dreams (original 1899; edition 2005)

by Sigmund Freud (Author)

MembersReviewsPopularityAverage ratingConversations / Mentions
3,821352,070 (3.54)1 / 48
According to Freud, our unconscious impulses are not random, but packed with meaning, taking on color, form and even a storyline. All dreams are actually wish fulfillments, and interpreting them can bridge the gap to the conscious, resulting in more meaningful living.
Member:Samuel.Sotillo
Title:The Interpretation of Dreams
Authors:Sigmund Freud (Author)
Info:Barnes & Noble Classics (2005), Paperback, 592 pages
Collections:Your library, Books
Rating:
Tags:Books, Psychology

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The Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud (1899)

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English (26)  Spanish (4)  Italian (3)  French (2)  All languages (35)
Showing 1-5 of 26 (next | show all)
In the age before self-help was big, the academic was much more aristocratic than they sometimes are today, and sometimes one might wonder what direction exactly the guide is taking one in. But if you try to remember your own dream, (on awakening in the morning or in the middle of the night), and then think of the barest outline of Freud’s ideas—we all have many repressed desires, many things unsuitable to Victorian conversation— then I think you begin to see where your guide might be taking you, and that I suppose is enough for the beginning.

.......................

As much fun as it would be to study people the way you might study giant ants, right....

“The enormous advance psychoanalysis [the Freudians] made over psychophysiology [medicine] is in its consideration that no factor intervenes in psychic life without having taken on a human meaning; it is not the body-object defined by scientists that exists concretely but the body lived by the subject. The female is a woman, insofar as she feels herself as such.”
Simone de Beauvoir, “The Second Sex”

For everyone who thinks we must simply stop reading flawed works and become perfect at once. No.
  smallself | Jun 18, 2019 |

I enjoyed reading Freud’s book. When he speaks about dreams and their interpretation, I am reminded of a microfiction I had published years ago where the editor told me it was the weirdest story he has ever read and that a Freudian psychoanalyst would have a field day interpreting. Here it is below. If anyone would care to offer an interpretation according to Freud or any other school of psychoanalysis, I'm sure you could have some fun.

The Roof Dancer

Sidney and Sam, identical twins, crackerjack roofers, started work up on a roof one sultry July morning when Sam tripped on a piece of tar at the roof’s peak and slid down head first. He would have plunged straight to the ground if Sidney hadn’t reached over at the last moment and snatched him by his boots.

Hanging over the side upside-down, Sam had a view through a second floor bedroom window. The lady of the house was completely naked. Her ample rear end was bobbing and swinging to a polka playing on an enormous ancient phonograph.

Sidney yanked Sam back up to the roof but Sam became so excited in the process, he ejaculated his semen seed. By the time the seed popped out of the bottom of his dungarees, rolled off the roof and landed in the yard, it was the size of a cantaloupe.

From all corners of the yard kids skipped over and began frolicking with the seed. Its round contour grew to the size of a watermelon in their hands.

Sam stared down at the kids. He began a high-step gleeful dance, part mazurka, part gavotte, part rumba, part hornpipe right there on the roof, bottom to top, edge to edge, twirling like some enchanted wood nymph, his pot belly jiggling in pure ecstasy.

It wasn’t long before the man of the house, a bald, mustachioed Mr. Verea, made his way up the ladder. “What’s all this racket I’m hearing?” he asked, scanning the roof.

Sam pirouetted daintily at the peak, doffing his baseball cap. Mr. Verea grabbed Sidney by the suspenders and yelled, “Do you guys think I hired you to put a new roof on my house or perform ballet?”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Sidney stammered, beads of sweat pouring off his forehead and bulbous nose.

Mr. Vera pushed Sidney rudely. “Now, I say, do it now!”

Sidney wobbled backwards, nearly toppling over the edge but regained his balance and shoved Mr. Verea back. A rapid-fire shoving match ensued along the entire length of the roof. At the same time Sam fluttered down on tiptoe, scooped up an armful of shingles and started putting them in place.

A fully-dressed Mrs. Verea made her appearance at the head of the ladder. “Get back down here,” she railed at her husband. “Let those men finish their work.”

“Nobody is going to push me on my own roof,” he replied.

“I say come down,” insisted Mrs. Verea.

“Come down yourself,” said Mr. Verea.

Stepping up from the ladder to the roof Mrs. Verea kicked her husband in the pants. He stopped shoving Sidney, turned around and started shoving her, whereupon she too started shoving him furiously.

Sidney fanned himself with his baseball cap and looked over at his brother – just now, between acrobatic leaps of a saltarello, Sam placed the last of the shingles on the tar.

As if he were at the court of Louis XIV, Sidney curtsied gracefully, then pointed to the ladder before climbing down himself. Sam followed, hips swinging but fell between the rungs. There was nothing for Sidney to do but guide the ladder, with his brother stuck in it, to the van.

The kids approached; they held the distended seed, the shape and length of a garden hose now: translucent with flecks of gold, sparkling, radiating light in their hands. When Sam jiggled and kicked down the driveway, the kids shook the magnificent seed, each shake casting out fine gold dust that turned to streams of water when it touched the earth.



( )
  Glenn_Russell | Nov 13, 2018 |
The foundations of Sigmund Freud’s theories regarding psychotherapy are laid out in this work. Freud describes dreams as being useful tools for understanding his ideas regarding the human mind and its illnesses. According to his work, the dream represents the deepest, hidden longings of the unconscious mind, and is the way in which the mind works to maintain balance. It does this by hiding the true meanings of dreams, thoughts, and feelings from the everyday, conscious mind.
  cw2016 | Feb 22, 2017 |

I enjoyed reading Freud’s book. When he speaks about dreams and their interpretation, I am reminded of a microfiction I had published years ago where the editor told me it was the weirdest story he has ever read and that a Freudian psychoanalyst would have a field day interpreting. Here it is below. If anyone would care to offer an interpretation according to Freud or any other school of psychoanalysis, I'm sure you could have some fun.

The Roof Dancer

Sidney and Sam, identical twins, crackerjack roofers, started work up on a roof one sultry July morning when Sam tripped on a piece of tar at the roof’s peak and slid down head first. He would have plunged straight to the ground if Sidney hadn’t reached over at the last moment and snatched him by his boots.

Hanging over the side upside-down, Sam had a view through a second floor bedroom window. The lady of the house was completely naked. Her ample rear end was bobbing and swinging to a polka playing on an enormous ancient phonograph.

Sidney yanked Sam back up to the roof but Sam became so excited in the process, he ejaculated his semen seed. By the time the seed popped out of the bottom of his dungarees, rolled off the roof and landed in the yard, it was the size of a cantaloupe.

From all corners of the yard kids skipped over and began frolicking with the seed. Its round contour grew to the size of a watermelon in their hands.

Sam stared down at the kids. He began a high-step gleeful dance, part mazurka, part gavotte, part rumba, part hornpipe right there on the roof, bottom to top, edge to edge, twirling like some enchanted wood nymph, his pot belly jiggling in pure ecstasy.

It wasn’t long before the man of the house, a bald, mustachioed Mr. Verea, made his way up the ladder. “What’s all this racket I’m hearing?” he asked, scanning the roof.

Sam pirouetted daintily at the peak, doffing his baseball cap. Mr. Verea grabbed Sidney by the suspenders and yelled, “Do you guys think I hired you to put a new roof on my house or perform ballet?”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Sidney stammered, beads of sweat pouring off his forehead and bulbous nose.

Mr. Vera pushed Sidney rudely. “Now, I say, do it now!”

Sidney wobbled backwards, nearly toppling over the edge but regained his balance and shoved Mr. Verea back. A rapid-fire shoving match ensued along the entire length of the roof. At the same time Sam fluttered down on tiptoe, scooped up an armful of shingles and started putting them in place.

A fully-dressed Mrs. Verea made her appearance at the head of the ladder. “Get back down here,” she railed at her husband. “Let those men finish their work.”

“Nobody is going to push me on my own roof,” he replied.

“I say come down,” insisted Mrs. Verea.

“Come down yourself,” said Mr. Verea.

Stepping up from the ladder to the roof Mrs. Verea kicked her husband in the pants. He stopped shoving Sidney, turned around and started shoving her, whereupon she too started shoving him furiously.

Sidney fanned himself with his baseball cap and looked over at his brother – just now, between acrobatic leaps of a saltarello, Sam placed the last of the shingles on the tar.

As if he were at the court of Louis XIV, Sidney curtsied gracefully, then pointed to the ladder before climbing down himself. Sam followed, hips swinging but fell between the rungs. There was nothing for Sidney to do but guide the ladder, with his brother stuck in it, to the van.

The kids approached; they held the distended seed, the shape and length of a garden hose now: translucent with flecks of gold, sparkling, radiating light in their hands. When Sam jiggled and kicked down the driveway, the kids shook the magnificent seed, each shake casting out fine gold dust that turned to streams of water when it touched the earth.



( )
  GlennRussell | Feb 16, 2017 |
This book probably gets a perfect score from all psychoanalysts everywhere. But for the rest of us living in the real world this book serves better as the thoughts of a poet in action than any actual psychological applications. Nearly all of Sigmund Freud's findings have been refuted with good evidence. For example, Freud thought Fyodor Dostoyevsky's epilepsy was caused by guilt over his father's death when in fact his sons exhibited the same epilepsy,

Nevertheless these ideas are highly tempting and extremely fun to work with. In fact, for the artist they are helpful to one of the highest degrees. It is a highly compelling idea, to take one of the book's biggest conceits, that all dreams are wish fulfillment dreams. The fact that it takes much teasing to bring out that tendency doesn't detract from the thought because we honestly have no idea what dreams are. Some say dreams reflect wish fulfillments and fears, and this seems to be closest to the truth since mankind's first emotion is fear, but dreams are so grotesque, non-sensical, and emotionally charging that it seems so much more is involved with them than beats the eye. Indeed, when Freud is not over-complicating things he is actually over-simplifying them. But this may be the trapping of every person who studies dreams.

Freud's views are heavily rooted in scientific observation so that lends a lot of credence to his theories. In that sense it's easy to see why his views took off in America where they didn't take off in Europe. It's also easy to explain his ascension in America by the fact that Americans don't want to take responsibility for their actions and would rather blame "supernatural" forces such as the id and the super-ego (as opposed to just the ego). Indeed, it's easy to see how some of Freud's more ridiculous ideas stemmed from this simple seed of a book. He did not form his Oedipal Complex theory yet when this book came out, which was probably his most famous theory, but it's only too easy to see how much bullshit could spring from this one book, which was his first. Sigmund Freud may have ultimately been a charlatan, but I personally believe that he was genuinely on the search for truth. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." Indeed, and so sometimes humans are utterly flawed and it's a wonder we can cipher out the truth in any instance at all, let alone the least likely of instances. ( )
  Salmondaze | Mar 21, 2016 |
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» Add other authors (94 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Freud, Sigmundprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Crick, JoyceTranslatormain authorsome editionsconfirmed
Brill, A. A.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Caparrós Sánchez, NicolásEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Forrester, JohnIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Masson, J. MoussaieffEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Richards, AngelaEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Robertson, RitchieIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Strachey, JamesTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Underwood, J.A.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Wilson, StephenIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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In March 1900, shortly after its publication, Freud wrote to his friend Wilhelm Fliess, '...not a leaf has stirred to reveal that 'The Interpretation of Dreams' has had any impact on anyone.'
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In 1909, G. Stanley Hall invited me to Clark University, in Worcester, to give the first lectures on psychoanalysis.
In the following pages, I shall demonstrate that there is a psychological technique which makes it possible to interpret dreams, and that on the application of this technique, every dream will reveal itself as a psychological structure, full of significance, and one which may be assigned to a specific place in the psychic activities of the waking state.
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Penguin Australia

An edition of this book was published by Penguin Australia.

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Tantor Media

2 editions of this book were published by Tantor Media.

Editions: 1400101662, 1452601283

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